Page 29 of Actually Yours

*****

I’m not giving Amelia another thought.

It’s several hours later and I’m sitting on my couch, my head woozy from the beers I’d consumed. Thinking only about Amelia.

“Craft beers. Taste better but have a higher alcohol content.” I say this to myself out loud, as a reminder for next time (at least four weeks from now) as I scroll through the Netflix homepage, struggling to find something to watch amongst the millions of shows on offer.

“Ooh, a new season ofAlone. Sounds fitting for my current life situation.”

I stop muttering to myself and press play. It’s a new season, set in the wilds of Patagonia and I lean back, sinking into the comfortable depths of my couch, ready to lose myself in the struggles of the men and women attempting to survive for as long as possible to win half a million dollars. This sort of show is right up my alley.

“Shelter,” I tell the young woman on my screen who is currently wasting way too much time looking for the best spot to set up her tent. “You’re going to need a better shelter than that.”

I watch, annoyed as she continues to ignore my advice and my attention wanes. Drifting to where I’d vowed it shouldn’t go.

Maybe I could just message her? See how she’s doing?

I have played this battle out in my mind more times than I can count in the weeks and months since she’d become my brother’sex-girlfriend, but I’d never given in. Until now.

JAKE: How’s the dating plan coming along?

I press send and then lob my phone face down onto the rug in front of me. Like that’s going to somehow stop whatever it is I’d just put into motion.

“I blame the beer.” I pick up my phone and oh-so-casually look at my notifications. Nothing.

OK, that’s that. Back to the wilderness engulfing the contestants competing inAlone.

*****

“Don’t eat the berries!” It’s been twenty-three minutes and fourteen seconds since I’d sent the errant, ill-advised text to Amelia. And in that time, one contestant had tapped out, another had fallen into the icy lake near her tent and now this woman is about to eat a berry. Origin unknown. Oh, and also, there’s been no response from Amelia.

“Told you,” I tell the screen, where the berry lady is now throwing up violently. “Basic survival 101, never, ever eat something that may kill you.”

I’m mulling over this sage advice when my phone lets out aPING, scaring me half to death. It’s so quiet in my house with only the lonely contestants on my screen to keep me company, that the sound of an incoming message, the hope of which I’d let go of ever hearing, has me jumping. A manly jump, that is, barely a centimetre off the couch.

AMELIA: I’ve got a date tomorrow.

AMELIA: With an accountant.

This news makes me wish I’d never sent the text message in the first place. And also, how does she know the message is from me? I’ve never, ever texted her before.

AMELIA: I didn’t know you had my number.

Huh. She’s clearly grappling with the same realisation as me. We’d both had each other’s numbers but had never had a reason to use them before.

JAKE: I’m sure Robby shared it with me at some point…

This is an outright lie. Because I’d specifically asked him for it in the days after they’d broken up. Under the guise of needing it ‘just in case’. It had been a weak excuse at the time, one that Robby hadn’t cared enough to question.

AMELIA:Same.

(Interesting. Here Robby was, giving our numbers out willy-nilly, presumably not thinking we’d ever really use them).

JAKE: So, are you looking forward to your date with the accountant?

(Do I really want to know the answer to this question? Why am I torturing myself like this?)

AMELIA:No!

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